Dean Thomas and the Red Roped Key
by DH Pena
Summary: Harry, Ron and Hermione are not the only ones who find adventure and perils in Hogwarts. This is the story of muggle-born Dean Thomas: his discovery of a past and its effects in his future.


Author's Notes: For the two who reviewed already: Thank you very much! I am not sure as to what happened. I suppose I may have misunderstood the directions on uploading an html file. But thank you for directing my attention to fix this problem. Hopefully it should turn out alright this time.

**  
Dean Thomas  
and the  
Red Roped Key **  
_DH Pena_

> There is a red roped key. Its ultimate purpose is unknown. Who it belonged to before is, too, unknown. Join Dean Thomas in his adventure through Hogwarts, losing himself in the halls, helping to correct fellow Gryffindor - Neville Longbottom - on his spells, unravelling riddles with his buddy Seamus Finnigan, wrestling from the grips of a giant sea creature, and much more!
> 
> "Harry, Ron and Hermione are not the only ones who find adventure and perils in Hogwarts. This is the story of muggle-born Dean Thomas: his discovery of a past and its effects in his future. This is the first installment to a tale following Dean Thomas through his years at Hogwarts. "

**  
Chapter One  
Your Average Dean **

In a flat in London there is a boy. Upon first glance he is your average boy. Dean Thomas is his name; the eldest of his step-siblings. And on closer inspection, he, still, very much appears to be just your average Dean.

Coming home from primary school, he spends most of his afternoons sitting in the corner of his room, with pencil and paper, drawing, whilst his young brothers and sisters jump on the beds. He did this so much that he became rather good at it. In fact, one year in school he entered one of his works in the school art competition and received the blue ribbon. His art, with the blue ribbon pinned to it, sits on display on a shelf in the drawing room where his mother looks at it, every morning before going to work, and smiles.

A mature boy for his age, too. "Quiet as a dormouse," his grandmother would say, "and so well behaved." It was quite a relief, too, that Dean was not so much of a bother as his mother often had her hands full with his siblings. The family portrait of just the children shows quite the contrast: calm and composed Dean, smiling at the camera; and his two brothers and two sisters each caught whilst fidgeting or hitting each other in the picture. His step-father, Geoffrey Whaelins, a self-employed lawn maintainer and Royal Navy veteran, often remarked to him about his respectable behavior.

Yes, Dean would be the first boy to tell you that he lives a normal life and is generally content. Though, with all the satisfactory of a normal life Dean could not help but wonder from time-to-time about the shadowy parts of his past. What was this memory of a man who has no face in his remembrance? What were those strange, yet amazing, tricks that he would do with his hands that kept Dean so entertained? Was it all just an odd fantasy made by his mind? This shadowed man, he called him Dad, and he puzzled that he could not see his face.

Once, when he was eight years old, Dean approached his mother and asked who his father was. The name he could not remember, but what stuck to his mind was that his father left him—left them, he and his mother—when he was still very young. "Just fourteen months old, I believe," she would say monotonously.

"But why? Why did he leave? Maybe he'll come back?" Dean said.

Dean's mother waved her hand and said, "I don't know, Dear. Go on and play, I had to bring home work today and so I have tons of paperwork to finish here. Go on."

Still, when Dean went to sleep at night sometimes he'd see that face, his father. Once, in his dreams, his father smiled at him as Dean watched, with infantry fascination, what used to be a normal rocking horse begin to neigh and paw like the real thing. When he awoke he glanced around the room, his siblings all asleep in their beds, and toys strewn on the floor. Never did his eye land on a rocking horse, nor could he remember ever having one.

"Just a silly dream, Dean," he whispered to himself, and laid back down on the bed.

And that is all those dreams were to him—silly, fantasies, the things his mind wanted him to see, not memories. His life was normal, average, and he got on fine with his brothers and sisters and his step-father. Dean thought nothing more of anything out of the ordinary until something out of ordinary happened.

• • •

Author's Notes: Thank you SlateOne, it is my attempt to capture a realistic and quality Dean Thomas. I will do my best to do him justice. Thank you, as well, for the canon information. It actually does not stray too far from my plans. And yes, as a matter of fact, I am working on a Kingsley Shacklebolt story. More than likely a short story. Though what I have as of currently are only notes of ideas and plots.


End file.
